Caring Gentlemen
by DangoLovesYou
Summary: Nezumi is 14 years old and working on the street when he is hired by a kind stranger, who reminds him of a certain honors student to an uncomfortable extent... Because there are so few stories for that charming little four year gap. T , but no worse than the anime/manga.


Yeah, quick warning. This is like T+ for mentions of some... _stuff..._ and cussing. But, then, in the manga and anime, they talk about Rikiga pimping and all that, and this is no worse, so I didn't make it M. If it offends you or something and you think I should change it, please let me know. Enjoy~

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"I don't think so, little boy," another woman said as she passed Nezumi on the street, refusing to look him in the eye. _Bastards. All of them, sick bastards,_ he thought bitterly, shivering. God, he was cold.

More than anything, he wanted to throw on his coat and stay in a hotel with the last of his money. Unfortunately, as he put on his best pleading look for the next person to walk by his huddled form, he knew it was just a teasing dream. His stomach rumbled beneath icy skin to remind him.

Business wasn't usually this bad. Nezumi didn't know why this week had been so fruitless, but it was really starting to piss him off. _Just take the damn bait already, _his thoughts spat to the trash citizens of West Block. His eyes hardened into a sharp glare as another person shuffled past him, this one not even acknowledging his existence.

He shuttered against the cold again as clouds rumbled overhead on this brisk fall evening, threatening rain. He couldn't take much more of this. Deciding to try even harder, he brought forth his secret weapon. It was a move of desperation, only for when he had lost the entire ounce of dignity he had during this degrading job, right about now.

Nezumi cast his deep grey eyes down the crumbling road to the first wanderer coming his way. Next, he made a quick judgment of them. This was the trickiest part, but he got a little better at it every time he tried. It was a matter of deciding a person's morals, their boundaries, and their secrets, all within a second's glance. In this case, he spotted a tall man in a ragged coat. The stranger didn't appear to have a lot of money, so he wouldn't have much to spare for such a… _service_… but Nezumi had to try. He figured his best option was to go with looking something along the lines of helpless. It was pretty much what he had been trying all night, but he put a bit more effort into it now.

From the look of the man's saunter, experience told Nezumi that this potential customer wasn't some shotacon, so Nezumi did his best to make himself look as old as he could, which was seventeen on a good day, fifteen on a bad one. Today was a bad one, during which he was barely able to work his way out of his own age of fourteen. Still, he continued without hesitation, keeping his eyes small but meaningful and gently lifting a bony hand toward the passing stranger. "Sir?" He began, but was ignored.

Another failure.

_Damn it, I'm going to die tonight at this rate… _Nezumi thought, clenching his teeth and thinking vicious thoughts about the tall man who had just walked past him. As the last rays of sunlight fled from the sky, it grew colder by the minute. Nezumi knew what good showing a little skin could do in his line of work, so he kept his coat sitting pathetically beneath him, waiting for the opportunity to earn some money and decide himself done for the day. Right now, he could only afford about half a roll. A whole roll, if he could successfully make a move on whoever was selling. He knew all of this, but the thought alone didn't fight off the chill that was tightening beneath his pale skin.

After a small internal rant about how much he hated the worthless, selfish scum of West Block, Nezumi declared his break time over and scanned the street for his next potential customer. A woman with a grocery bag. She had to be making some good money to be carrying around a paper bag of meat and potatoes like that. People like these were goldmines. If Nezumi could pull this off, he could earn himself money, food, and a night with a heating system. Pushing his thoughts and instinctual desires to steal her food and run to the side, Nezumi chose more of an innocent little boy persona for this woman. Curling up in his loose, falling shirt, Nezumi hugged his knees and brought tears to his skilled eyes.

The woman ignored his staring and walked on.

_Why, why, WHY?! _

Four more people, four more rejections.

A heaving sigh escaped Nezumi's lean chest. Running his fingers through scraggly and biting his lip, the teenager was about to give up and go hungry for the night when he heard a couple of footsteps coming in his direction. A young man, maybe in his early twenties, towered above the huddled boy, a sympathetic glimmer in his golden eyes complimenting a sad smile. Maybe tonight would not be a total waste after all.

"Hello, there," the man said quietly, crouching down beside Nezumi. He took a helpless look on again, quivering lip and all.

"Kind sir? I, I-," he began, doing a best to bring a blush to cold cheeks. The man knitted his eyes brows and draped Nezumi's jacket across his trembling shoulders.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, petting Nezumi's shoulder. He struggled not to recoil. These customers didn't usually look so earnest and kind when they hired him. It was just a little disconcerting. Still, the job had to be done.

He coughed dramatically. "Please, I'm so hungry. You have to help me. Of course, I'd help you in return," he said quietly, allowing a tear to fall and placing a hand on the man's. The random pervert—_er, customer_—grinned and picked up young Nezumi, wrapping his weak legs around a well-built waist, arms lacing behind his neck. Nezumi whispered, "Thank you, kind sir," into his ear, half genuine, as the two walked up to a nearby food stand for some "fresh" meat.

The man's name, Nezumi learned as they walked back to his small dwelling, was Ryota. Nezumi didn't catch a surname, but didn't particularly care. In fact, he cared about very little as he stepped into an actually _heated _building. He let a truthful smile flicker across his lips as he followed Ryota around.

"Make yourself at home for now, I'm going to cook this," Ryota called over his shoulder as he turned on lights around the tiny shack of a house, groceries in hand.

Nezumi hummed a response and looked around at the cracking walls and chipping ceiling. This place wasn't much, but it was normal by West Block standards. For a fleeting moment, Nezumi's mind's eye flashed on about two years before, when he had wandered into the fabulous mansion of a strange boy… Then a bookshelf caught his eye, and the thought was gone.

Dinner was ready sooner than reading mind would have liked, but his stomach was greatly relieved. Nezumi and Ryota ate off of chipped dishes on the floor, all but silent as they did so. Usually, people weren't as kind and quiet as Ryota. Nezumi was starting to wonder if he actually knew what he had hired him to do when Ryota spoke up. "Ne, Nezumi. Do you like to read?"

"Why, yes. I thank you for allowing me to read some of yours, Master Ryota."

"Of co- wait, 'Master'?'" He asked quickly, his brown hair falling into those deep honey eyes.

"Yes. You have given me food and shelter. Tonight, you are my master. Would you rather I address you differently?" Nezumi said automatically. Most everyone customer he had ever had drooled at being called 'Master,' especially when he did it without being asked. It had become something of a habit, along with the accompanying speech.

"Yes, please. That's just weird. Just… call me by my name." Ryota said, avoiding eye contact.

"Of course, Ryota."

"Thank you. Say, Nezumi?"

"Mm?"

"Where are your parents?"

Nezumi paused for melodramatic affect. "They're dead. You're the only one I have in the world right now," he said softly, this being an old trick of his.

Suddenly, his plate was yanked from his hands and set aside, and Nezumi was captured in a firm, warm embrace. Ryota said nothing as he hugged his house guest for a long silent. Finally, he pulled away, his eyes distant, and asked, "Nezumi, how much money do you need?"

"That depends on what you'd like me to do."

"Forget that; it's not as important. How much?"

This was unusual, to say the least. Nezumi had only met such a caring person once in all his life, two years before. It made sense, though. If there could be one airheaded, overly generous guy in the world, there could be more. Still, it was a wonder this man had survived so long in West Block. He must have had more wit than he appeared to. So how much to say before he realized Nezumi was ripping him off…

"Thirty gold pieces?" He asked, admiring the gentleness on Ryota's face. Something about it was very trustable, and the teen thanking the world for such a break in his hardship.

"You'll have them in the morning," Ryota said. For once, Nezumi was fortunate. He didn't even care about having to sell himself as much as he usually did in the hours that followed. He had been made to do the work he was getting paid for, as it seemed Ryota was entirely sure of what he was hiring Nezumi to do, but somehow, that night was different. That night, a little of his hope was restored. And, it helped that Ryota reminded him some of a certain soft-hearted honors student. It was easy enough to forget what was actually happening to him.

_Thank God, _he thought to himself, just before falling asleep in Ryota's arms, _for caring gentlemen. _

The following morning, Nezumi woke up cold and alone. Beneath him was not Ryota's thin mattress, but grey concrete instead. He had his clothes, but the money was gone from his pocket, his shame having been stolen along with the four gold pieces he had been saving. That meant he hadn't gotten paid from his job last night, either.

"Damn it," Nezumi muttered to himself, wondering how he could have let his guard down like that. Just because Ryota—if that was even the man's name—had reminded him of someone so ignorant he wouldn't know how to steal, he had trusted him. Stupid, stupid Nezumi.

_I should fine a new job, _Nezumi mused, but was truly hopeless. He couldn't see anything else he'd be particularly good for that could get him any money. He stood up and stepped out of an alley into the street, which was blanketed in low-hanging fog, despite the slight breeze drifting through the air.

Nezumi began to sulk about when the light wind blew a small piece of paper onto his arm. Someone out there lost a business card for an "acting manager". _Hmph. _Nezumi stared down at the expensive looking ink forming the miniscule letters. _An actor, eh? _

Yeah, Nezumi could try that. He could lie his ass off without anyone being the wiser, and he was certainly beautiful. Past experience with perverts had taught him that much. Not bothering to rationalize the decision any more, Nezumi started across town to the tiny address. Maybe he could make it work, or maybe he would be pouting on the ground again by evening. But one thing was for certain, he wouldn't be trusting anyone with a kind heart again for a while.

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A/N~rhgsipuhgspigr. I don't even know. That was just some crap I jotted down off the top of my head, because I'm all too happy to have 11 plot bunnies and a multi-chapter fic or two on my to do list. It's not like I have an actual life to live or anything. Sorry about any errors, I'll go through and re-edit later like I always do. Now, blah blah blah, I'm not Asano Atsuko, blah blah blah blee blee blee blue.

So, if you liked it, I'm glad. I don't know how you managed that...

Also, the next chapter of Corrupted is coming, okay? Calm down. I've already started it, and I know what's going to happen in it and all that good stuff. I'm sorry if I upset you by releasing this first, but whatever. One-shots are easier for me.

Enjoy your day/night.


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